


All the Good Things (The Morning Will Come Remix)

by inksheddings



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Yohji was meant to fuck anyone tonight it should have been "flower child."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Good Things (The Morning Will Come Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryuutchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Until Morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354675) by [Mohji Kudou (Ryuutchi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Mohji%20Kudou). 



> Thank you, **Ryuutchi,** for allowing me to remix your work. I enjoyed it greatly.
> 
> Thanks to my super fantastic beta for all the much-needed assistance. You are always awesome. <3

** All the Good Things (The Morning Will Come Remix) **

 

Yohji locked the flower shop's door and leaned against it, closing his eyes. Despite the late hour, he wasn't tired or drunk, though he wished he could claim one or the other for how his night had turned out. Or not turned out. Whatever.

She'd been gorgeous. Tall and leggy but with curves so deadly that even Aya's Porsche wouldn't stand a chance. And her name— Hanako. If Yohji was meant to fuck anyone tonight, it should have been "flower child." 

But.

"Shit." 

Momoe wouldn't look too kindly on him in the morning, but Yohji lit up a cigarette and smoked it while still leaning against the door. The smell of flowers and smoke made his nose itch. Too bad that wasn't the only itch he needed to have scratched. 

Yohji pushed himself off the door and made his way to the bathroom. He flushed the butt down with his piss, watching it all swirl down and away. He used to think there was more to life than piss and cigarettes. 

He walked quietly down the hall, careful not to wake Ken and Aya. He could hear Omi typing behind the closed bedroom door. Yohji smiled at the image in his head of Omi doing his high school homework. Whether planning out missions or planning out essays on economics or whatever the fuck school kids worked on, Omi was meticulous. Meticulous and just as ruthless as the rest of them, which was why Yohji couldn't bring himself to feel too badly about opening the door and just walking right inside, though past experience told him he'd feel differently in the morning.

"Welcome home, Yohji," Omi said without looking up from his computer. 

The click-clack of his fingers on the keyboard was as familiar as it was calming. Yohji had the urge to ruffle Omi's hair, but he resisted. That would have felt too brotherly or something. He leaned over Omi's right shoulder instead, pretending to read whatever he was still typing at such a fast pace. Yohji's cheek was only a couple of inches away from Omi's. 

"What are you doing up so late?" Yohji asked. Of course he knew the answer, and Omi knew he knew the answer, but it never failed to irritate Omi that Yohji kept asking anyway. Which amused Yohji, so—

"Ow!" Yohji yelped when Omi lifted his hand from the keyboard and smacked Yohji's face. "What was that for?"

"You're distracting me," Omi replied, though he couldn't have been too distracted since he went right back to his typing, the little shit.

This was when Yohji was supposed to turn Omi's chair around. Yohji would then kneel down so they were face-to-face. He'd say something cute like, _Aw, come on. You were only doing your homework so you wouldn't have to admit to waiting up for me, right?_ And Omi would play along and say, _Of course, Yohji."_

And then . . . 

"Yohji?"

Yohji startled. He shook his head to clear it and looked down at Omi, who had turned his own chair around and was staring up at Yohji with his head cocked adorably. 

Yohji wasn't tired or drunk. Omi wasn't tall and leggy and the only curves he had were written into plans so deadly Aya's Porsche wasn't the only thing that wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe, though, just maybe, both Yohji and Omi were flower children of a sort. At some point they'd wither and die and be thrown out with the trash. Or maybe Yohji was just full of nonsensical crap. Yeah, that was the most likely scenario.

Still, if Yohji was meant to fuck anyone tonight . . .

Yohji gave in to temptation and ruffled Omi's hair. Omi pushed him hard enough to knock him off balance—Yohji had learned long ago not to underestimate Omi just because of his size, and he got a kick out of watching idiots make that very mistake—but Omi was laughing so Yohji didn't feel in any immediate danger.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

Omi stopped laughing and stood up. He walked over to Yohji and placed his hand on Yohji's cheek, the same one he'd slapped earlier. 

"She was pretty?" Omi asked. 

Yohji nodded.

"I can smell her perfume." Omi leaned in and sniffed Yohji's collar. "It's nice. Is it only on your clothes?"

Another nod. Yohji was starting to feel tired after all. Or, no— not tired. Relieved. 

"Then maybe you should take them off," Omi said as he started helping Yohji do just that, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, carefully. Omi was always so careful with him.

Yohji's shirt and jacket were soon discarded and then he was sitting on the bed while Omi removed his shoes. Looking down at Omi kneeling between his legs, Yohji wondered why he even bothered looking for tall and leggy anymore. 

As soon as Yohji felt the soft carpet underneath his bare feet, Omi leaned up and pulled him down by the back of his neck until their lips were nearly touching. 

"It's different tonight," Omi said.

Yohji heard his voice shake as he responded stupidly with, "What about it?" He sounded like a scared child, not like Kudou Yohji, assassin extraordinaire. But that was just it, wasn't it? He could fuck a woman and forget the blood and brain matter, or he could fuck Omi—let Omi fuck him—and not forget, not lock it away, but let it loose with someone who would smack him when he deserved it and touch him when he needed it. Yohji had no clue what he'd choose come morning, but he did know what he wanted, needed right now.

Yohji wished he could feel Omi's cock slide into him without the condom, but foolish and tenuous as their current situation might be, he didn't want to add idiotic to the list. It still felt good, especially since Omi wasn't afraid of hurting him, of fucking him too hard. Yohji loved it on his back, able to see every expression that passed across Omi's face as they tried to hold off coming as long as they could. They didn't usually manage very well, but hey, they gave it their best shot.

After, lying side-by-side, no fucking clue where the condom had ended up, Yohji thought about the walk to his own bedroom. It was only a few doors down, and he'd never stayed overnight before. He'd told himself it wasn't what he wanted, and too risky— neither of them was anxious to be found out by either Aya or Ken. But they'd already broken their routine tonight. 

Yohji closed his eyes, wondering if Omi would kick him too hard if he lit up a cigarette. The call of nicotine was pretty damn strong, and this was when he was supposed to leave— he didn't even need an excuse. But then he felt Omi's fingers in his hair and something light landed on his chest. Yohji opened his eyes to the sight of his pack of cigarettes, cheap-ass lighter tucked inside. How the hell Omi had managed to get them out of his clothes without Yohji noticing— damn, this kid.

"Just this once, Yohji." 

Omi's tone was chiding, but whether he was talking about the cigarettes or the possibility of a sleepover, Yohji didn't know. But he lit up, wondered what the hell he'd use as an ash tray, and felt Omi curl around him. 

Fuck it. A smoke always helped him think. He'd figure it out before only a filter and a pile of ashes were all that was left.

 

**end**


End file.
